


Cousins

by Jay_Wells



Series: Tabris on Roleplaying [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Loss of Parent(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Wells/pseuds/Jay_Wells
Summary: "The Alienage was dismal. An unpaved lane petered out toward the center and wooden huts crowded together, pressing against the walls. Hollow-cheeked beggars huddled under what shelter they could find, hugging themselves against the weather. Shianni shuddered. She and her mother hadn’t much, but this was poverty like she’d never seen."But she wouldn’t abandon them, even if it meant never finding the Dalish.





	1. Windows (9:17)

**Author's Note:**

> tw: violence, blood, death

**9:1** **7**

 

A little girl with bright red hair huddled under her blanket, ignoring the noises from the front room of their tiny cottage. A group of farmhands barged into their home, demanding Shianni and her mother leave. She didn’t understand why they were so angry -- her mother worked hard, and the MacDuffs liked her so much they promoted her to nurse. Mamae and Shianni weren’t a burden, they did their work and stayed out of the way. 

The door snapping off its hinges had woken them in the middle night, and they stumbled blearily into the front room.

“Gentlemen, it’s rather late,” Mamae admonished. There was a tremor in her voices that Shianni couldn’t understand. These men were their friends. “My daughter and I were asleep when you knocked. Whatever business you had can wait until morning -- there was no need to break in like criminals.”

“We don’t want trouble,” said Andrew, one of the farm hands. He snuck her sugar cubes sometimes. “But you need to go.”

Shianni clung to her mother’s nightgown. “We didn’t do anything wrong, so why do you want us to leave? Where would we go?”

“Hush, we aren’t going anywhere,” her mother said, brushing her hair from her eyes. She turned her attention to the men. “This is our home. I came to work here several years ago to support my daughter. I’ve worked just as hard as all of you, and I’ve earned my position.”

There was grumbling from the small mob. Andrew spoke up, his blue eyes pleading. “They don’t like that you were chosen. You understand that your new position is higher than expected. A lot of the servants are suspicious of how you got it.”

Mamae’s face reddened. “Watch yourself.”

“Sorscha, you must know how this looks,” Andrew said. “I don’t want you to get hurt -- or your daughter.”

Her eyes steeled. “Get out of my home,” she demanded. “Do not threaten my child.”

A large man Shianni didn’t recognize stepped forward. “Andrew, you said she would leave if we let you speak to her.”

“Shianni -- ” Mamae pushed her back. Her hands were pale and trembling, and sweat rolled down her forehead.

“Please, Gil, stop. You’ll frighten them.” Andrew maneuvered himself in between them and the mob. “There’s a little one here.”

“You spoke to her, and she ain’t leaving. I told you once, I’ll tell you twice: elves think they’re better than us. Give them an inch, they’ll take a mile.”

“This isn’t worth it, Gil. I think we’ve done enough.”

“No, we haven’t.” Gil pulled a knife from his belt. Shianni whimpered.

Andrew appealed to her mother. “Just tell Master MacDuff that you can’t accept his promotion. That’ll lay everyone’s mind at ease.”

“Why must I be the one to apologize when I haven’t done anything?” Mamae asked. “Shianni, go back to bed. I’ll deal with our guests.”

She stepped back into their shared bedroom, and her mother locked the door behind her. “Just a precaution, love,” Mamae assured when she protested. “Don’t unlock the door and don’t open it for anyone.”

So she sat and waited while the shouting got louder. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she heard a sickly squelching noise and Andrew’s voice died from the fray. Her mother cried out in alarm, then the door shook and her voice went away too. The door handle rattled, and Shianni gasped. Her heart pounded in her ears, so loud she could hardly hear the fists pounding on the door. 

She needed to escape, or they would come and hurt her. Andrew and Mamae couldn’t help her. She needed to get the window open. The men began charging against the door.

_ Thump. _

She forced her fingers underneath the sash and pulled.

_ Thump. _

They hadn’t opened the window since summer. It was mid autumn now. The window stuck in place. 

_ Thump. _

It gave way and opened a crack. Shianni felt a cool breeze and almost wept. She shoved her hands through until the bottom sash rested on her palms and wrapped her fingers tightly around it and shoved. The window creaked and groaned before sliding up just enough, and she slithered through the opening, tearing her clothes. She landed in the mud. It soaked through her threadbare nightgown and made her shiver.

Her ragged breathing was all she could hear as she slipped along the wall in the darkness. She rounded corner, eyes locking on the barley fields. They were near harvest, and only came up to her waist, but if she crouched or laid down, they would hide her.

She took a hesitant step toward the fields when the bedroom door exploded open. Shianni covered her mouth with her hand to keep from exclaiming. It wouldn’t take long to realize that she wasn’t there, and where she had gone. To reach the fields, she’d need to run across thirty feet of exposed land. One look out the window, and they would see her. Her knees felt like jelly and she leaned against the wall for support. They were going to catch her.

She had to move. Mamae had bought her some time, and if they caught her, it was for nothing. She took a long, shaky breath. The humans couldn’t see in the dark as well as she could … but her red hair was like a beacon. She dug her fingers down into the mud and plastered it over her hair. Her nightgown, old and faded gray already, was camouflaged with mud from her fall, so she let it be. There was no time, anyway. 

Shianni breathed deeply and fled to the barley, diving face-first into the rows and lying still. It took the humans several hours to stop searching, and she fell into a fitful sleep that night. 

She woke the next morning before dawn and ran back home, hoping her mother would be waiting, injured but alive. What she found horrified her.

Mamae and Andrew were sprawled out on the floor, lying prostrate in pools of congealed blood. Mamae’s glassy eyes stared upward, and Andrew’s face was swollen. She dropped to her knees and vomited in the corner of the room, then sobbed.

Once her tears had dried, she stumbled into the bedroom. Everything was destroyed, but at least she didn’t have to see the blood. She curled up in the closet and sniffled.

And days passed. 

Shianni’s stomach twisted and growled and her muscles burned from hunching over so long. She wanted to cry for her mother, but she feared that would make the humans come back. 

On the third night, a hooded man stepped into the room, water dripping off his sodden cloak and pooling on the floor. Shianni wondered, briefly, if she could make a break for the doorway, or the window again. Before she could change thought into action, the closet door opened and the hooded man loomed over her. She whimpered.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I’m not here to hurt you. The humans have left.”

He kneeled down and pulled back his hood. A kind face with blue eyes like her mother’s greeted her. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a stuffed Mabari. “My daughter’s -- she won’t mind.” 

It was well-loved, with a faded coat and a loose eye, and damp from the rain.

“I imagine you don’t know me, do you?” the elf mused. “I’m your Uncle Cyrion. Your Mamae gave me a key to come fetch you if anything bad happened.”

“She’s dead.” She hugged the toy to her chest.

Uncle Cyrion’s mouth drew up in a tight line. “I know, but she loved you very much. Don’t forget that. Change into something clean and pack a bag of whatever you can and meet me in the parlor. Stick to essentials -- clothes, money. We don’t have much room for knickknacks. Quickly now.”

Shianni changed out of her nightgown and into a loose smock, and shoved her dress, the one Mamae bought for her to wear to the Chantry, into a bag. After a moment’s thought, she dropped her soiled nightgown onto the floor and left it there. Her cloak hung on the doorknob and she fastened it over her shoulders before joining her uncle in the hall. “I’m ready.”

She felt safer as his calloused hand enveloped her small one. “Good, then let’s go. It’s getting late in the day, and I don’t want to be outside the city too long. It isn’t safe.”

Shianni shivered as they stepped out the door. “Why?”

“Humans get suspicious, especially the guards,” he explained. “Keep you’re head down and don’t speak to any guard unless spoken to.”

“Why?” Her uncle was all but running across the field, and she tripped along, clinging to his hand. 

Uncle Cyrion sighed. “They don’t like us.”

“Why not?” Shianni kept a tight grip on his hand. “I didn’t do anything to them.”

“No, you didn’t. But you’re different than them, and they hate that,” he said.

Shianni squeezed her eyes against the rain. “Do you know who my father is? Will he come find me, now that Mamae is gone?”

His breathed hitched, and he studied her features, like he was solving a puzzle. After a moment, he shook his head. “He was an elf, I can tell you that much, but I don’t know more. I’m sorry -- I didn’t even realize you had been born until your mother wrote me a few days ago.”

“Mamae didn’t talk about me?” She was a little disappointed.

“She didn’t talk to me at all, since she left. I didn’t think I’d see her again.” He sighed and stared into the distance. “S’pose I was right. You know, when we were kids, we used to talk about running off, joining the Dalish.”

“Why didn’t you?” Shianni asked. That sounded like her mother.

Uncle Cyrion shrugged and pulled her onto the road, lifting her over a deep puddle in the wagon tracks. “We grew up, I’d say. Our oldest sister married, and then I did as well. Sorscha could never stand the city and left to join the Dalish. Seems she got sidetracked.”

“Maybe she did meet them,” Shianni mused. “Maybe my father is a great Dalish warrior and he’ll come fetch me.”

They reached the city as final bells of the evening rang. Uncle Cyrion waved some papers at a guard, who inspected them and then waved to enter. Her uncle muttered something about a curfew and sped up, dragging Shianni with him. They weaved through the sparse evening crowds of the marketplace to another large, foreboding gate. “Now, hush. No more questions until we are safe.”

She thought they were safe before.

A  guard stopped them at the gates. “State your name and business.”

“Cyrion Tabris. This is my niece, Shianni.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We are returning home.”

“Why is the girl with you?” The man narrowed his eyes at Shianni and she flinched.

Uncle Cyrion pulled her closer, until his rough cloak scratched her cheek. “Are we not allowed to leave the Alienage? My sister lives outside the city and sent her daughter to stay with my family for a time. I went to the city gates after work and picked the girl up from her mother. Is that so strange?”

“I think you was up to something,” the guard said. “A farmer reported that one of ‘is servants went missin’ an’e can’t find ‘er nowhere. Then one of ‘is farmhands was found dead near the wench’s house. Saw a pair of suspicious individuals slipping out last night an’ thinks it was the elf an’er brat.”

Uncle Cyrion stared at the guard with a neutral expression. “You are under the mistaken impression that we are still slaves and thus must alert you any time we step out of our homes. Perhaps the farmhand got handsy with the woman. Maker knows you humans think you can do as you please with our women.”

“Did you or did you not ‘elp ‘er?” The guard leaned forward, his face inches away from her uncle’s.

“I don’t know her. Just because we are both elves does not mean we know each other.” Uncle Cyrion enunciated each word carefully.

The guard grabbed Shianni by the shoulder. “Where are you from, girl?”

She froze. She was from the MacDuff’s farm -- she didn’t know any other places.

“She’s from outside Highever,” Uncle Cyrion supplied. “Please, she’s been travelling for a week.”

“I was askin’ the girl,” he snarled.

Another guard approached them from behind with an exasperated groan. “Brennan, knock it off. You’re frightening the child. Let the man in.”

“Thank you, Ser Reuben.” Her uncle bowed his head and entered the Alienage, tugging Shianni along behind him. The second guard smiled at her as they passed. She waved quietly and followed Uncle Cyrion.

The Alienage was dismal. An unpaved lane petered out toward the center and wooden huts crowded together, pressing against the walls. Hollow-cheeked beggars huddled under what shelter they could find, hugging themselves against the weather. Shianni shuddered. She and her mother hadn’t much, but this was poverty like she’d never seen.

They entered the first house they came to, and Shianni was surprised at how barren, though spacious, it was. There was a table next to the fireplace, a washbasin and laundry basket in the corner and a small chest. The whole house was one room, with only the door they’d entered through and one boarded-up window. A small alcove that she assumed was their bedroom was curtained off from the rest of the house. The roof caved in and water dripped from a small crack into a wooden bucket. A woman with dark skin and chin-length hair tied into several pigtails rushed to help Uncle Cyrion with his cloak.

“You’re soaked, Cyrion,” the woman scolded. “And late. Did the men at the gate give you any trouble?”

“Brennan did, but Reuben told him to lay off.” Uncle Cyrion kissed the woman on the cheek. “Are the children asleep?”

“Yes. Both of you, by the fire.”

The woman, introduced as her Aunt Adaia, handed her a chipped mug of hot water with a little honey and gave her a one-armed hug. Uncle Cyrion explained everything to Aunt Adaia while Shianni sipped her water and warmed herself by the fireplace.

“Shianni, I think it’s time for bed.” Aunt Adaia gently removed her mug from her hands. “You’ve have a long day.”

 

There were two other children in the house, with whom she shared a bed. Soris and Kallian were a few years younger than her and endlessly curious about life outside the Alienage, but Shianni wasn’t in the mood to satisfy them. She stayed curled up in bed and mourned her mother while Aunt Adaia gently informed them that she was unwell.

After several days, Kallian managed to slip her mother’s notice. “Shianni, do you want to come play?”

“No.” She faced the wall. The bed creaked as the smaller girl crawled next to her.

“Maybe you’ll feel better,” her cousin suggested.

She curled up. “I won’t.”

Kallian rested her chin on Shianni’s shoulder. With her mother’s complexion and her father’s eyes, she was pretty despite the faint pockmarks on her cheeks, telltale signs of illness. “If you’re scared, you can stick with me and Soris. We’ll introduce you to everybody.”

“Leave me alone,” she begged.

“It’s pretty outside,” Kallian entreated. “C’mon, you’ve been in bed for days.”

Shianni shoved Kallian off of her. The girl toppled off the bed and hit the floor with a loud thump. Kallian stared up, tears gathering in her blue eyes. “I don’t want to play with you, I don’t want to meet everybody and I  _ don’t  _ want to live in your  _ stupid  _ Alienage.” 

Kallian sniffed and slunk away, her tiny mouth working to hold back tears. Shianni couldn’t bring herself to care, not when she was tired and hurt. She wanted her mother back.

When Aunt Adaia returned that day for supper, she sat next to Shianni on the bed. “Shianni, dear, please come join us at the table.”

She didn’t respond. She could get away with snapping at Kallian, but she wasn’t sure Aunt Adaia would put up with it by half. 

“Shianni, you’ve been in bed almost a week. I understand this is hard on you, but you can’t hide forever.” Her aunt rested a hand on her shoulder. “I heard that you and Kallian spatted earlier.” Shianni stiffened. “Don’t worry. I’m not mad. Kallian can be a bit nosey, but I’d like you not to do it again. She’s smaller than you.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. She hadn’t meant to hurt her cousin.

Aunt Adaia stroked her cheek. “I know. You’re a good girl.”

Shianni curled up against her aunt. “I miss Mamae.” 

“I know,” her aunt said. “Please come join us for dinner. I think it’ll do you good to see some friendly faces.”

If Kallian told her mother, she definitely told her brother. They probably hated her now, and she didn’t blame them. Aunt Adaia was right -- they were nosey, but they were little. She shouldn’t have pushed Kallian.

But her aunt looked hopeful, so she agreed to go to the table.

 

Her cousins were remarkably forgiving over the next week, and never mentioned her outburst. They continued to entreat her to leave bed and play with them, though they developed a sense for when they’d hit her limit. Much to her surprise, they pushed it a little further each day. She began looking forward to it, like a game. 

On eleventh day since she came to the Alienage, they double-teamed her. 

Soris sat cross-legged on the floor and Kallian sat with her on the bed. “Shi-anni, come pla-ay with us.”

“Yeah!” Soris agreed from the floor.

“No,” Shianni replied, but she had to hide a smile.

Kallian caught it. “Then we’ll talk. I’m five.”

“I’m four,” Soris added. He furrowed his brow at the change in direction, but followed Kallian anyway.

“Now you.” Kallian faced her expectantly.

Shianni sat up in the bed and repositioned herself to see them both. “... Eight.”

They appeared suitably impressed by this. Soris’ jaw dropped comically. “That’s old.”

“Is not,” she argued.

“Is too.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re just a little baby.”

“Hey,” his sister came to his defense. “He’s not a baby.”

She grinned. “Is too.”

“Is not,” they both said before collapsing into giggles. It was nonsensical and infectious, and Shianni joined them. She felt a lot better than she had in the past two weeks.

Kallian poked her cheek. “Come play with us now.”

“As you wish,” she relented. Somehow it still felt like a victory.


	2. Knives (9:22)

 

**9:22**

 

Dark storm clouds loomed in the sky and the wind was still, lending a haunted feel over the precariously stacked house. It would rain soon. Shianni made a mental note to bring in the laundry in before the storm broke. During the day, most adults left the Alienage. Those who could work labored in the city, and beggars sat on street corners where there was more money but less generosity. Shianni hated that they had so few options.

After morning chores, children played in the streets away from the gates. It wasn’t often that humans came through, but when they did, they made trouble. Sometimes they wanted to see how ‘the other half lived,’ an offensive euphemism for gawking at the elves. It made all the adults anxious, but there was too little money to be had to stay home.

Her uncle put her in charge of her mischievous cousins, believing she would keep his headstrong daughter out of trouble. In truth, Shianni and Kallian encouraged each other, and Soris had a bad case of hero-worship for Kallian and did whatever she said. Auntie, who was aware of their shenanigans, warned them not to be cautious of who they crossed.

Shame she already misplaced her charges.

It started with a game of hide-and-seek, and they had fun at first. When Shianni still couldn’t find them an hour later, she worried. Alienages were only so big. “Kallian? Soris? Please come out. This isn’t fun any more.”

An angry shout erupted from between their home and the gates, and her blood ran cold. The shout was echoed by a cry of pain and a snarl. Muscles tense, Shianni followed the sounds to the gate.

Halfway down the muddy lane between their house and the gate, Soris laid in a puddle with a bloody nose and a bruised cheek. An auburn-haired youth regarded him as one might a rat or a particularly unpleasant insect. Kallian stood between them, teeth and fists bared, and Shianni felt a mix of pride and fear. The boy was at least twice Kallian’s size and armed with an ornate hunting knife, still secured in his belt. Aunt Adaia taught them to defend themselves, but this wasn’t an Alienage boy pulling on pigtails. He could and would hurt her.

Shianni was out of his line of sight, and he hadn’t noticed her yet, so she inched toward him, hand reaching out toward his knife.

Kallian’s bright eyes flicked to the knife and her face turned ashen, then hardened. Something in the ten-year-old clicked and her momentary panic melted away into a veneer of confidence, one that she nearly pulled off, if not for the slight tremble in her hands. Regardless, she managed to keep her voice steady, if quiet. “You should leave now, while you can.”

It took him off guard and his defenses dropped long enough for Shianni to wrap her hand around the handle and slide it from its sheathe. The wood was smooth and balanced against her palm; the knife was well-made, fit for a noble.

Kallian’s hands rested on her hips and her chin tilted up, appearing confident and haughty. She was terrified. Sweat beaded at her temples, and her eyes were unfocused as she searched for an escape route. She wouldn’t find one. She was panicking too much.

“The  _ hahren _ protects us here. If I summon him, you’ll wish I hadn’t,” Kallian said. She was bluffing -- the  _ hahren _ was only the Alienage elder, and couldn’t do much more than file a complaint to the arl. If the boy was of noble blood, it would do little good.

The boy chuckled nervously, not catching on. Kallian was banking on that. “You can’t summon anything. You’re not a mage.”

“What makes you say that?” Kallian lowered her voice to a cordial tone. Her eyes locked with Shianni’s, a silent plea to play along. “Our ancestors lived forever, you know. They had some kind of magic that yours never had, and you are sorely mistaken to think that none of it remains in us. I think you shouldn’t risk it.”

His eyes widened just a tiny fraction, and Shianni refrained from snorting and ruining her cousin’s ruse. “She’s right. The  _ hahren _ won’t be pleased you harassed us, but if you go, we’ll forget about this.”

He spun around and yelped in surprise. “You’re a dirty liar,” he said, shaken. 

Shianni smirked. She didn’t know much Elvish, but her mother had taught her a few phrases when she was a child. “ _ Ma serannas-ma. _ ” She tripped over the syllables with her flat accent, but it did the trick. 

The boy gulped, and Kallian’s eyes sparkled with delight. “And with these words we invoke Fen’Harel -- the Dread Wolf. I would start running now.”

He scrambled away down the lane, shoving Shianni out of the way. As soon as he was out of sight, they collapsed in giggles. Even Soris, barely past his breaching, snorted in disbelief. “He sure was stupid. Nursery tales like that wouldn’t scare half them down in the orphanage.”

“Really.” Kallian shook her head. “Thanks for playing along, cousin.”

“No problem.” Shianni pulled Soris up, checking his face over. His nose had stopped bleeding and his mouth and chin were covered with congealing blood, but it wasn’t broken. “That looks like a nasty bruise there, but I think you’ll be fine. We’ll have to tell Auntie and Uncle about this, though. They’ll be angry.”

“I don’t think so,” Kallian said. “At least, not at us.”

“They won’t be mad,” Soris echoed faithfully.

As they walked back to the house Kallian glanced shyly up at her. “You don’t think the Maker will be mad at us, though? Because we talked about Fen’Harel? I don’t want to blaspheme.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in that rubbish.” Shianni snorted and opened the door.

“Well … the Chantry sister says it’s true,” she said uncertainly. “It’s heresy to call it a lie, isn’t it?”

“It’s heresy to alter the Chant, too, but they went and cut out the Canticles of Shartan, didn’t they?” She closed the door behind them and started to build a fire for supper. “We had a part of their history and Andraste promised us a homeland in the Dales. That didn’t stop them from invading and destroying everything our people worked to rebuild.”

“We met a Dalish elf once. With Papa, at the market,” Kallian admitted. “He was really scary.”

“He had tattoos all over his face,” Soris supplemented.

Kallian bit her lip. “Papa didn’t like him. He called us flat-ears, which sounds a lot like ‘knife-ear.’ If the Dalish are all like that, then I don’t want anything to do with them.” She knelt by the basin of water they filled that morning and dipped a chipped wooden bowl in, filling it halfway, and grabbed an old rag. “Soris, come here and let me see your face.”

Soris sat cross-legged in front of Kallian and allowed her to gently wipe the blood from his mouth. She pressed too hard on his cheek and he flinched. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Kallian murmured, easing her touch. It was difficult to believe they weren’t brother and sister.

Shianni took the poker and listlessly stirred at the flames while Kallian cleaned him up. “My mother set out to find the Dalish before I was born. I think she found them. She knew all these things about them and their language, and she wanted me to learn.”

“Did you live with the Dalish?” Soris asked.

“I lived on a farmhold.” She set the poker down once she’d gotten the fire down to embers and lifted up a barley loaf that had been rising since morning. She fantasized that her father was a Dalish warrior, and that he’d help her reconnect with her culture. Wistfully, she said, “I wish my father would come and show me how to be a real elf.” The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted even thinking them. 

Kallian blinked up at her. Then her mouth twisted into a scowl, and she spoke first quietly, then louder and angrier, “We  _ are _ real elves. Just because I don’t live in the woods or know a bunch about elven history doesn’t mean I’m not an elf. It’s not like believing in Andraste and the Maker or knowing more about the Hero of River Dane than Shartan stopped that boy from calling me a vermin. The humans call us slant-ear just the same, and if the Dalish want to call me names too, then I don’t have to claim them as  _ my _ people.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Shianni settled the dough into the embers and pulled out a pot to start the stew. “It’s just … How can I follow a religion that deliberately doesn’t include me? They cut out Shartan, who fought by Andraste’s side, they say we’ve turned further from the Maker … I don’t know. It just seems  _ wrong _ , and I want to see it from another perspective. I remember my mother telling me all these stories, but it was just the scraps that she knew. I can’t piece them together. That’s why I want to find the Dalish. I want to know our history.”

Kallian laid the bloody rag back into the water and start to wash her own hands in face. She shrugged, not quite willing to forgive Shianni yet.

Soris sat cross-legged on the floor. “Please don’t leave us, Shianni.”

“I won’t.” She sighed. “I promise.” 

She wouldn’t abandon them, even if it meant never finding the Dalish.


End file.
